by Lily Graison
Swallowing to moisten her throat, she asked. “Um, does Morgan know what you’re planning today?”
“He’ll know soon enough. I sent my Bert out to his family’s ranch to let them know about his nuptials so don’t you worry none. He’ll be here.”
Something in Edna’s face led Abigail to believe the woman didn’t care if Morgan wanted to be married today or not. He’d do it because she thought he should. There was bad blood there but she wasn’t about to ask. She didn’t care, if the truth were known.
The other questions she had were waved away as Mrs. Jenkins showed her several dresses, making her choose one from the stack she’d brought. The cake preference was given and Miranda had her in a chair, her hair pulled up off her neck and tiny pink and white flowers woven in with the strands before she could think of a way to stall the whole process. When she was dressed, they’d left her alone… which led to chewing her nails and pacing the room. “Damn it, this can’t be happening. Not like this.”
Looking toward the window, she wondered if she could just jump out and run. Run where, she didn’t know. She was sure Edna would track her down. There wasn’t anywhere to go other than back to Morgan’s and that would be the first place they looked for her.
She was stuck, like it or not. She was getting married today. Edna had gone to too much trouble to back out now. Besides, she’d come to Willow Creek to marry and although her plans hadn’t gone exactly as she’d thought they would, all wasn’t lost. If Morgan didn’t want to marry her, then someone would. She was almost positive. Question was, could she go through with it if the man who asked wasn’t even remotely as exciting as Morgan Avery was?
* * * *
Morgan had just propped his feet up on the desk, pulled his hat down over his eyes and leaned back in his chair when the door opened. He pretended he was asleep, hoping whoever was there would just go away and come back later.
His entire morning had been one confusing occurrence after another and he was exhausted trying to sort it all out. The unknown person shut the door but their booted feet on the floor let him know they hadn’t pulled it shut from the outside. Just his luck.
Long moments ticked by and when no one spoke, Morgan sighed and lifted the hat off his face. Seeing Holden standing there grinning at him confused him even more. “Please tell me you’re here to explain why the whole town has gone soft in the head.”
Holden raised an eyebrow and sat in the vacant chair across from the desk. “What? You don’t know?”
Morgan shook his head. “Nope, but every person I’ve seen today has wished me luck, congratulated me for something, or they just stood there grinning before they started gossiping.”
“Have you asked anyone about it?”
“Hell no. I was too confused at first then got this funny feeling I wasn’t going to like the answer so I was trying to ignore it until you came in. Now, what are you doing in town? Better yet, why are you still grinning at me like that?”
Holden laughed before standing up. “You better come on. You can’t go dressed like that.”
“Dressed like this for what?”
“Your wedding.”
Morgan imagined a lot of things today when every one started acting funny but a wedding, his apparently, hadn’t been one of them. It all made sense now, though. The congratulations, the smiles, and the gossip. The whoring, drinking, single town marshal getting married was enough to get the town talking and it had. He just wished someone had told him about it.
He eyed Holden as he lowered his feet to the floor. His brother was dressed in his Sunday best, his boots shined up and his dress hat on. He’d even put on a string tie. He looked quite spiffy. Every bit the well off rancher he was. Standing, Morgan glanced out the window, his eyes widening when he saw Alex in the buckboard sitting beside his pa. “How’d you get him out of the house?”
“I didn’t. Not really. I told him me and Alex was coming to town to see you get hitched and that far-off look usually in his eyes cleared. He stood, walked to his room and came back out with his boots and hat on.”
“He dressed himself?”
Holden laughed. “No. He was still in his drawers but I saw fit to find his clothes for him.”
Rounding the desk, Morgan walked to the door, opened it and looked out at his pa. The man hadn’t been right in the head since their mother died. They weren’t sure what happened to him exactly but it was like a switch had been flipped and he lived in a world of his own making. He talked to himself most of the time, carried on complete conversations with people who weren’t there, and seemed a million miles away. The fact he heard Holden and understood what was happening was a miracle.
“Time’s a wasting, Morgan. Are you going to change your clothes or not?”
Morgan turned his attention back to Holden. “Who planned all this because I sure as hell didn’t.”
Holden shrugged his shoulder. “Don’t know. Bert Pierce rode out a few hours ago and told me to be here right after lunch. Said you and Abigail were getting married.”
“Abigail…” Morgan sighed. Damn. She was serious then. He’d let himself believe she’d been teasing him about marrying her and now she’s gone and involved the whole damn town in it. He didn’t know whether to ring her neck or just laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. He had no one but himself to blame. He did say he’d marry her after all.
Shaking his head, he walked outside, looking back at Holden once on the sidewalk. “I have to talk to Abigail. Where’s this all happening at?”
“In the grove out behind the mercantile.”
Nodding his head, Morgan started across town. The streets were deserted, he noticed. Everyone must be in the grove waiting to see him get hitched. He rolled his eyes. He’d let his mouth get away with him one time too many and this just proved it. Marrying Abigail wasn’t a completely horrible thought but he would have at least liked the time to warm up to the idea. Or talk her out of it.
A bead of sweat trickled down his back as he walked between the buildings. For some reason, he felt as if he was walking to the gallows. Married. Him. He almost laughed but seeing the crowd of people gathered in the small grassy copse of trees, a sudden, irrational fear forced the humor away.
The feeling grew when he saw Abigail standing with a group of women by a table filled with food. She turned to look at him and his breath caught. She was the prettiest thing he’d seen in ages and he was about to toss her away. Stupid didn’t even begin to describe how he felt at that moment.
Chapter Seven
Abigail excused herself from the conversation happening around her and made her way toward Morgan. He was still dressed as he was this morning, his denim trousers and plain chambray shirt and dusty boots. He hadn’t cleaned up for their wedding which told her he wasn’t there to say, “I do.” When she stopped in front of him, she blurted, “I didn’t do this. I swear it.”
Morgan looked over her shoulder to the women gathered around the table. “I can only guess who did.”
“Edna.”
He huffed out a harsh breath. “Figures. That old bat can’t leave well enough alone.” He turned his attention back to her and smiled as he took in her dress and hair. “You look real pretty, Abigail.”
She blushed and knew she wasn’t too pretty now. She could only imagine the pattern those splotches made on her skin but she knew they were there. “Thanks.” She cleared her throat, looked away uneasily before sighing. “What do we do?”
He didn’t get a chance to answer. Edna approached them, said it was time to start and before either could get a word in, someone was playing music from an old fiddle, the people gathered all turned and waited to watch them approach the circuit preacher standing in front of the crowd. How they’d found the preacher wasn’t nearly as fascinating as the fact so many people were there to witness the whole thing. Abigail wasn’t even aware this many people lived in and around Willow Creek.
Turning to Morgan, Abigail smiled. “You don’t have to do this, Morgan. I know it kind o
f snowballed so if you’d rather not, its fine with me.”
He looked so relieved, Abigail had to force a smile onto her face to hide the painful clenching of her heart before she looked away. Him saying her name was the only thing that made her look at him.
“Go on back to the house, Abigail. I’ll break this party up and we’ll talk when I get there.”
She stared at him for long moments before shaking her head. “No, I’m still going to get married.” An inhaled breath, taken deeply enough to fill her lungs to capacity helped calm her nerves. “I need a husband, Morgan. I can’t live in your house forever. Besides, if I stay there much longer, people will get the wrong impression and no one will want to marry me.” She lifted one shoulder, a sad smile covering her face. “I have to do this. I have no other choice.”
Abigail turned and made her way through the crowd, toward the preacher. When she turned to face everyone, she smiled and took a deep breath. “I wanted to thank everyone for coming today and for you ladies who put this all together.” There were warm smiles and small chattering heard as Abigail stared at their faces. One face stuck out. Morgan’s. He was still standing where she left him. She ignored him and continued. “There seems to be a mix up. Morgan never actually asked me to marry him. I sort of asked him.” That earned a few laughs and she waited until they’d calmed. “And springing this on him today has sort of left him—”
“Pressed for time.” Morgan was moving through the crowd, making his way to her and Abigail wasn’t sure what to make of it. The look on his face was unreadable. When he reached her, he took her arm, turned her toward the preacher and told the man to, “get on with it.”
Trying to control the stunned look on her face was easier said than done but Abigail managed to not stare at Morgan as if he’d lost his mind. He was looking at the preacher, his mouth set in a firm, hard line and his eyes looked entirely too bright. What was he doing?
When the preacher began to speak, Abigail wondered if it were all a dream. She heard Morgan say, “I do,” and when it was her turn to do the same, he had to squeeze her hand to get her attention. She mumbled the words and stood staring at him when the preacher asked if he had a ring. Someone in the crowd said they had it and when Abigail looked, it was Holden. He crossed the space between them and handed a small gold band to Morgan, who placed it on her finger.
The preacher saying they were married left her a bit numb. Even more so when Morgan grabbed her and kissed her so deeply she felt dizzy from it all. The cheers of those watching penetrated her foggy mind once he let her go and she saw a tiny smile lift one corner of his mouth.
“Don’t look so shocked, Abigail. People will think you didn’t really want to marry me.”
He turned, took her arm and walked her straight to his brother and the older man standing with him. When she was introduced to Morgan’s father, and Holden’s young daughter, Alexandra, Abigail knew it was real. Morgan really had just married her.
* * * *
“What the hell have I done?”
“Is that rhetorical or do you really not remember?”
Morgan glared at Holden and tried not to scowl. He’d been watching Abigail for the better part of an hour and still couldn’t wrap his brain around the fact that she was now his wife. Why he’d stopped her little speech was beyond him. All he knew was, the moment she started speaking, he’d taken a look at those gathered and saw over ten men who would kill each other to stand beside her and not a one of them was good enough for her. The thought of her crawling into any of their beds had heated his blood to the point he’d been tempted to shoot the first man who moved. He’d beat them all to it though, crossing the distance and telling the preacher to, “get on with it.” He hadn’t even regretted it until the preacher announced them man and wife. That’s when the reality had slapped some sense into him. He was a married man now. He had a wife to take care of, a woman, who on occasion, had the tongue of a viper. A woman he knew nothing about.
He heaved a deep breath and rubbed a hand over his jaw. His beard was growing out again. A look down at himself and he cringed. He looked like hell. His clothes weren’t the nicest he had, his old “shit-kicker” boots were so dirty he should be ashamed of them and he’d gone and married Abigail looking like a saddle bum. It was a miracle she’d even agreed to it. Although, looking back, she hadn’t really said anything. She’d let him out of the arrangement but when he stepped up beside her, she’d gone mute. She still looked a bit shocked, he noticed, as he looked over at her. She was standing with a plate in her hand but she hadn’t eaten much. She never did.
When she turned to look at him, nodding her head slightly to the side where Edna was standing, he grinned and left Holden standing where he was, crossed the distance between them and rescued her. “Excuse me ladies, but I’d like a word with my wife, if that’s all right with ya.”
Edna beamed up at him, the smile directed at him as foreign as a chinamen. “Oh, by all means, Marshal. You go right ahead.”
He nodded to them, grabbed Abigail’s arm and walked her back across the yard. “You had enough of those old biddy’s yet?”
She laughed. “I’d had enough when Edna escorted me into her living room and told me I was getting married today.”
“Thought so.” He stopped when they reached a grove of flowering trees. “Listen, I know this is sudden and all but is this what you really want?”
Abigail studied him for a moment before smiling. “What? Being married or being married to you?”
His face heated and he hated the fact it did. Truth be known, he couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to be married to him. He drank too much, did little other than sit in the jail and frequent the saloon and the women housed in the upper rooms of it. He was prone to run off and chase outlaws more often than not and even though being gone for long stretches of time was hard, he preferred sleeping out under the stars with his horse than he liked carrying on conversations with people. He was a loner. Had been ever since some highborn lady caught his fancy and ripped his heart out, leaving him with nothing but whispered talk behind his back and a house he hated even walking in to.
He looked away from her, out across the grove to where his family was. His father was talking to someone but it didn’t look as if anyone was paying any attention to him, which led Morgan to believe he was carrying on one of those one-sided conversations again. His family was about as messed up as he was and it couldn’t have been very appealing to anyone, let alone a woman. He just wasn’t sure why Abigail had done it. His earlier thought of her being in trouble was his only clue. She was hiding from something. Was that the only reason she was interested in him? It probably was and that burned more than it should have.
She grabbed his arm and moved closer, leaning in toward him. “Whatever you’re thinking, just know that marrying you wasn’t something forced on me. If I’d had my pick of anyone in town, you would have been first on my list. Especially after trying out your bedding skills last night. I don’t think there’s a man here who could compare to that performance.”
The heat in his face increased and spread to his limbs before he looked over at her. She was smiling and something in her eyes let him know she was thinking naughty thoughts. About him. He felt his cock stir and he gave a look back around the crowd. “Well, Mrs. Avery, I’m not sure why you married me but since you did, I think we need to make it all legal and binding. Want to head back to the house and see if the wedding night lives up to expectations?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
* * * *
They made it back to the house without anyone seeing them leave. Well, no one but Holden, that is. His brother had laughed, gave him a sly grin and guided their father back toward the buckboard and left without a word.
Once inside the house, Morgan wasn’t sure what to do. Well, he knew what he wanted to do. Flip up Abigail’s skirts and take her right there on the parlor room floor. He wasn’t sure she’d appreciate it, though.
He shut the door, looked out the front window for something to do and waited to see what she had in mind. When she said his name, he turned to look at her.
The small flowers woven through her hair were wilting, the petals coming loose to lie in a crumbling wave of confetti in her hair. A few blonde curls had escaped the pins and dangled near her face. She looked softer, somehow, in the dim lit room. The lacy dress she wore was a pale blue, buttoned to the neck. She looked as innocent as a virgin. And she was all his. ‘Til the day he died.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked, taking a step closer to him. “You have this funny look on your face.”
He shook his head. “About you, mostly.”
“Oh? What about me?”
Morgan grinned. “Well, to be honest, I was thinking about having you there on the parlor floor but wasn’t sure you’d appreciate it much.”
She turned and looked into the room, leaning her head to one side before facing him again. “Doesn’t look too comfortable.”
“It probably isn’t.”
She lifted a hand and started unfastening all those buttons on her dress, a tiny smile on her face. “The chaise looks good and plump, though.” The look in her eyes told him she didn’t care where it happened as long as it did.
When she shimmied out of the dress and stood before him in nothing but her shift and stockings, she closed the distance between them and started in on the buttons of his shirt. “Are you going to help me or shall I undress you completely myself?”
“You’re doing a fine job, Mrs. Avery.”
Abigail smiled at him and removed his shirt, tossing it to the floor before unhooking his gun belt and hanging it on the coat rack by the door. When she reached for the fly of his pants, she gave him a saucy look and dropped to her knees right there in the foyer of the house. She freed his growing erection, her fingers lingering over the length of him before leaning in to place a kiss on his heated skin. Morgan closed his eyes, hissing in a quiet breath as her lips closed over him. The gentle sucking of her mouth was pure torment. He grabbed the back of her head, angled his hips so she’d take more and nearly jumped out of his skin when someone banged on the front door.
